


Get Married... Or Run Away?

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Derek Hale's Terrible Life, Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:32:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2240820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a ring, a best man, Cora's approval... and now a Proposal Plan.  Romantic without being sappy or cheesy, it's a perfect plan.  </p><p>...Until it's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Married... Or Run Away?

**Author's Note:**

> I basically vomited this fic onto the page last night after being crushed by feels because of a stupid song that played while cleaning house. (Okay, I love the stupid song, but since it made me shed actual tears, it's a stupid song.)
> 
> Yeah, this is fairly heavy on the angst, but the ending makes up for it? Maybe?

Stiles was ready. 

Well, sort of.

He had the ring, a simple platinum band with a perfect triskele engraved on it. He had a best man in Scott — and fuck Derek if he thought Scott was going to be _his_ best man because no; Stiles'd had dibs on Scott since he was four. He even had Cora's… blessing wasn't the right word for it, but she definitely approved of Stiles' idea*. 

The only thing he didn't have was a plan for the _actual proposal_.

But then, while driving around one day on patrol, he heard it. The perfect song. It was old, some throwback to the late nineties, maybe, but it was fucking _perfect_. Stiles pulled to the side of the road, flipped on his dash-mounted radar gun to justify randomly stopping, and dug around in the back seat of his country cruiser until he found his phone.

"Hey, Scott?" he said as soon as the phone picked up.

"Yeah? Stiles? What's wrong? Aren't you on shift?" The worry in Scott's voice buzzed down the line, making Stiles cut his hand through the air, ignoring the fact that Scott couldn't even see it.

"Yeah, but just… shut up for a second. I need you to set something up for me."

"What?" There was the sound of rustling, and then it got really quiet on the other end of the line. Scott had obviously moved into an empty room. "You need something? Yeah, man, of course. Hope it's not money," he said dryly.

"Hah. No, not money. This might be worse." Stiles bit his lip and crossed his fingers, eyes squeezed closed as he admitted, "I need to hijack the next pack night."

There was a long, significant pause before Scott breathed, "Oh shit. You know it's Jackson's—"

"I know. Trust me, I know. But I really need it, man. I've got… I've got my Plan."

" _What?!_ "

Stiles spent the next few minutes laughing at the way Scott's voice broke and squeaked in his excitement, then filled Scott in on the details.

—

Derek looked at Stiles, eyebrows drawing together at the occasional waves of anxiety that were rolling off him. Tucking his arm around Stiles, he pulled him closer. "You okay?" he asked softly as Danny's song wound down and Scott dialed up the next song on the karaoke machine Lydia had rented for 'Jackson's' pack night. 

Yeah, right. No one was buying that.

But Derek also found it a little suspect because this didn't exactly seem to be something that _Lydia_ would find appealing either. Lydia just wasn't the 'get drunk and listen to the pack massacre a medley of one hit wonders' type. So—

Derek's train of thought was broken because Stiles' anxiety suddenly spiked before he hopped up, looking almost frantic as he dropped a quick kiss on Derek's cheek and then took the microphone out of Scott's hand. Derek leaned forward in his seat, ready to go to Stiles' aid — Stiles wasn't the sort to be fazed by embarrassing himself with a little karaoke — but Stiles just pointed at him with a fierce look, so Derek sat back, worry abating slightly.

And then the song started, and Derek had no more time for worrying over Stiles because with every chord, the past was rushing back, stabbing through him and leaving him bleeding out in the middle of an unheeding pack. With the very first words of the song, his heart lurched, eyes darting to the television in horror.

 _Goo Goo Dolls - Slide_ it said, the lyrics scrolling along the screen, turning from blue to yellow as the instrumentals caught up with the words. 

But blue to yellow wasn't right. It should be the other way around…

He gripped the arm of the sofa, assaulted by memories, the comfortable living room around him melting into Paige's face, pretty and smiling, filling his vision while the empty band room at BHHS spun around behind her as he twirled her through the room. He could hear her light laughter, see her nose scrunched up as his voice warbled through the notes of a song it wasn't meant for. 

He remembered sitting with the song on repeat, listening to it over and over as he practiced the words. Because it was her favorite song, and he was determined to get it just right.

Paige, in his arms, the light leaving her eyes as her last breath rattled from her lungs.

Suddenly, it was as if all the air in the room vanished, and he panicked, shaking his head, trying to suck in a breath that wasn't coming. Stumbling to his feet, Derek tripped over the arm of the sofa, blind to everything around him as the memory turned dark, became the nightmare that had never stopped tormenting him. 

But it wasn't Paige he saw. Not anymore. In his twisted memories, in his worst nightmares, it was Stiles. _Stiles_ dying that horrible death and Derek being the one to kill him.

—

Stiles watched the words scroll across the screen, saw the ones he was waiting for appear, and felt his heart lurch in his chest because _this was it_. This was the moment. Turning to Scott, he grabbed the ring from him— 

"It'll be great practice," Scott had insisted when they'd planned this out to every last detail.

—and then, right on cue, Stiles spun toward Derek, dropping to one knee as he held out the ring, triskele facing up, and sang, " _I wanna wake up where you are_."

But Derek was shaking his head, face pale with horror, and before Stiles could even register what was happening, Derek was stumbling to his feet, thigh catching against the arm of the sofa as he left the room like the hounds of hell were hot on his heels.

Stiles stared after him, shock filling him as the song continued to play on in the background. The microphone fell from his numb fingers, but the ring — the fucking _ring_ he'd bought to propose to Derek — just tilted over on its side and slid down to the first knuckle of Stiles' finger. 

"Stiles?" Scott's voice sounded hesitant, and some part of Stiles was grateful that someone had had the foresight to turn off the goddamn karaoke machine at least, but none of it was penetrating Stiles' bubble of… shock. Disbelief? Whatever it was, it was keeping him upright. Keeping him from collapsing into a ball of despair. 

Because he'd proposed to Derek and — 

Nope. Nope nope. That thought just bounced lightly off the bubble. 

Feeling comfortably numb, Stiles stood up, blinking slowly. Turning to Scott, he felt his lips curl up into what was probably a hideous approximation of a smile. "Thanks, man. I'm gonna. Go. Now."

Scott grabbed his arm, eyes filled with worry. _Why was he worried? There wasn't anything to worry about. Everything was fine._ "Stay here, man," Scott said, his voice soft. "Maybe you shouldn't go after him right now."

"Nah. It's fine. Fine." Stiles shoved his hand into his pocket — and in some part of his brain, he registered the pain as he roughed up the back of his hand on the stiff, starched material of his tightest jeans, but it bounced off the bubble just like everything else — tugging his keys out. "See you later." He blinked again, lips feeling stiff, unnatural as he spoke.

There was a buzzing in his head, or maybe it was the voices of the people in the room, but he couldn't really hear that. He was safe inside his bubble.

—

Derek didn't stay gone long. He just needed to get out of that room, get away from that music, breathe fresh air, clear his head. It was a bit like Stiles coming down from one of his panic attacks, really. He just needed to blank his mind, focus on his breathing, listen to his heart rate. Once he felt steady again, Derek dragged a hand down his face and grimaced.

Stiles was probably a giant ball of worry by now after the way Derek had fled. It was honestly weird that he wasn't _here_ actually. He was usually right there with Derek when the memories swamped him. 

Needing to feel Stiles, hold him, Derek turned back to the house, letting the light flooding from the windows — and the knowledge that Stiles was waiting in the light for him — warm him.

When he got back to the oddly-silent living room, the smell of overwhelming emotion — anger, shock, something that was like grief but not — nearly knocked him over. "What…" He looked around, taking in the pale faces and coming up short. Panic immediately assaulted him. "Stiles. Where's Stiles? What happened to—"

He wasn't able to finish the question because suddenly Lydia was there, her small hand making quite the impact as it slammed into the side of his face. Shocked more than hurt — werewolf healing, yay — Derek stared at her like she'd been possessed by a demon. "Lydia? What the hell?"

"How could you?" Her eyes were wet, shoulders drawn up tight, hands fists at her sides. As he stared, confused, a tear gathered on her lashes and spilled onto her cheek. "How—"

"Where's Stiles?" Scott asked, looking behind Derek like he expected to see Stiles there.

"He was here. Why isn't he—"

"Get out of my house. You're not welcome here."

"Lydia, that's not fair," Scott murmured, though he didn't look like he really believed it himself. Meeting Derek's eyes, Scott grimaced, his jaw twitching momentarily as _sadness_ and _disappointment_ wafted from him. "You could have just said no, man. You didn't have to… you didn't have to do it like that."

"What are you _talking about_?" Derek asked, fear and anger warring with each other inside him. "Where's Stiles?"

"He went after you."

—

Stiles opened the front door with the key from under the mat, not really knowing or caring where his own keys were. He had a vague memory of stopping to get gas, so maybe he left the Jeep at the gas station. The thought floated away, inconsequential.

"Stiles?" his dad's voice drifted from the living room as Stiles stepped into the house. When he didn't answer, his dad appeared in the darkened hallway. "Son?" he asked, stepping toward Stiles. "What's wrong? Why are you… here?"

Stiles just stared at him, then looked down at his hand, where the glint of metal on his finger made the bubble of numbness go sharp and brittle, threatening to cut him open and leave him bleeding out. "Here," he said, his voice sounding flat and lifeless to his own ears. He held the ring aloft, dropping it into his dad's hand when he reflexively held it up. "Keep it. Can't take it back. 'S engraved."

And then Stiles turned and put one foot in front of the other as he climbed the stairs, feeling weighted down, heavier with each step. "Going to bed now," he said, unconcerned with whether or not his dad heard him.

"But… you don't live here anymore."

—

Stiles wasn't at their apartment. He wasn't at the loft, or in the preserve or at Scott's house. With each place they looked, Derek became increasingly frantic until, as he and Scott were passing the old gas station, he saw the Jeep parked crookedly in front of a pump. Scott's tires squealed as he jerked the wheel, pulling up next to the Jeep and slamming on the brakes.

"Stiles," Scott yelled, falling out of the driver's side even as Derek was fighting to open the passenger side door of a car he'd rarely had reason to ride in. 

By the time Derek got to the Jeep, the fear Scott was feeling made the entire area stink and ratcheted his own panic to frightening levels. If anything had happened to Stiles...

"He's not here," Scott whispered from where he had collapsed on his knees beside the Jeep, looking like a puppet whose strings had been cut. "He's not here, Derek. His phone is here but he's not… Where…?"

Derek's ringtone had never sounded sweeter than it did at that moment. Jerking his phone from his pocket, he swiped his thumb across the screen, not even bothering to check the caller ID. "Stiles?" he asked, hearing the panic in his own tone.

"Derek?" _Not Stiles_. 

"Sheriff, sir, I—"

"Why is Stiles here? What happened?"

"There? Stiles is… oh god," Derek leaned heavily on the hood of the Jeep, light-headed with relief. "Stiles is there. Stiles is there. Okay."

Scott pried the phone out of his hand, speaking rapidly to the sheriff as Derek's brain buzzed with reassuring whispers of, _he's safe, he's safe, he's safe._

"I need—" Derek pushed himself up, turning to Scott. "Take me to him."

Scott shot him a wary look, distrust in his eyes. "Yeah, I dunno, Derek. After what happened—"

"Jesus Christ, Scott, either drive me there or I'll run! Fuck it," Derek said, turning away from Scott and climbing into the driver's seat of the Jeep. "I'll drive myself." He swallowed hard when he saw the keys still dangling from the ignition.

Derek had no idea what was going on in Stiles' mind right now, but it couldn't be good. He loved this damn Jeep.

—

Stiles climbed onto his bed, not even bothering with the sheets and blankets. Not even bothering with his shoes, really. He just curled on his side and stared out the window, watching the sliver of moon that shone there.

The longer he lay there, the more he felt the walls in his mind cracking, threatening to let the emotions they'd been holding back seep in. But he didn't want that to happen, couldn't deal with it right now, so instead he closed his eyes, letting darkness reach out for him and suck him under.

—

Derek pulled the Jeep into the Sheriff's driveway and sat there, just breathing in the scent of _Stiles_ that sat heavy in the vehicle. He closed his eyes for a moment, getting his emotions under control, steadying himself for what was to come.

A knock on the window made him jump, jerking his head to see Stiles' dad standing there, looking equal parts angry and worried. 

"Look, son," he said, when Derek had finally climbed down from the Jeep. Then he winced, and started over. "Derek. I don't know what went wrong, but… I'm trusting you here. Trusting that you love him enough to fix this. Maybe you don't want… the same things he does—"

"I do!" Derek dragged a hand through his hair, eyes darting to Stiles' bedroom window. "I want it… so much. I don't— I can't explain—"

"Then don't. Not to me. You don't owe me or _anyone but Stiles_ an explanation." There was a threat buried in his tone, but Derek shrugged it off, turned toward the door. "And Derek? Stiles gave me this." 

Derek stopped and turned slowly, dread coiling in his belly as he forced his eyes to the Sheriff's hand where a perfect circle of pale metal was laying on his palm. A low whine punched out of Derek's stomach and he reached out, fingers gentle as he picked it up.

It was beautiful. Perfect. So much better than the plain gold band he'd been carrying in his glovebox for months, waiting for the 'right moment.'

"Sir…"

"Go. Go fix this."

—

Stiles woke to the feel of arms around his stomach and a warm chest against his back. It took longer than it should have for the wrongness of that to register, because it was so normal for him. It was how he'd woken every morning for years. 

How he'd wanted to wake every morning for the next hundred.

And with that thought, all the anguish and despair that he hadn't felt the night before rolled over him, threatening to crush him. 

"Stiles!" The arms around him — Derek's arms — tightened, and Derek's voice was soft, thick with emotion as he made shushing noises in Stiles' ear. "Stiles, please. Oh god, please, let me explain."

"Don't. I don't…" Dragging in a shuddering breath, Stiles shook his head. "It's okay. You don't have to—"

"Stiles." Derek rolled him over, his face pinched and worried, pale with anxiety. "Please, Stiles, please let me explain. I swear to you—"

"It's okay," Stiles repeated, his voice shaky but firm. "You don't want… It's fine. We can—"

"Fuck. Goddammit, Stiles, I do want that. I want to marry you, baby, I swear to god I do." Derek pressed their foreheads together. "Please don't take it back," he whispered. "I need you."

"Derek." Stiles shook his head, blinking back tears as his heart clenched painfully in his chest. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, okay? You don't have to… If it's marriage, you don't—" But Stiles couldn't say anything else, because Derek's lips were covering his, swallowing his words, silencing him.

And maybe he was an idiot, but if this was all he could have? He'd take it. He'd take whatever he could get. 

—

Derek stopped the broken flow of Stiles' words with his lips, sucking them off Stiles' tongue as his trembling hands cupped Stiles' face. Pulling back, he let each of Stiles' hitching breaths spear through his heart. "Let me talk," he whispered, smoothing his thumbs under Stiles' eyes, along the ridges of his cheeks. "Please."

Stiles closed his eyes, face drawn in pain, but he nodded once. His heartbreak was physically painful for Derek, the scent of it overwhelming, driving deep.

"You know about Paige," Derek said, trying to find words to explain exactly what had happened the night before. 

"Derek," Stiles whispered, his hands unclenching from where they'd been balled up on his chest, holding tightly to himself. He reached for Derek, offering _Derek_ comfort, breaking Derek all over again.

"That was her favorite song." He winced and tried again. "As soon as I heard it last night, I just… it was like I was back there. Watching her die all over again."

Stiles pulled him down, let Derek hide his face in Stiles' neck. Let Derek be selfish. 

"But that's not…" He sighed, disgusted with his inability to explain this right. Lifting his head again, he brushed his palm over Stiles' jaw, eyes dragging over every inch of his face. "That's… I don't see her anymore," he said. "When I dream about that, in my nightmares, it's not _Paige_ I see anymore. Do you understand? So when I heard the song last night, Stiles… It was like every nightmare I'd ever had, playing out in technicolor. I can't lose you because that… that's my greatest fear now. Losing you is the one thing I can't survive." 

"Derek—"

"No, shh." Derek slid his thumb over Stiles lips, smushing them closed. "I didn't even know, Stiles. Do you understand? I had no idea what you were doing, what you were planning. I was too busy panicking over the thought of losing you to know you were offering to take all my nightmares away. If I could go back…" He closed his eyes, shook his head as his throat swelled with emotion. "I'm so fucking sorry. I just ran out of there like a moron and you thought—"

Stiles tugged on Derek's wrist, freeing himself to talk. "Derek!"

Dragging in a shuddering breath, Derek opened his eyes, letting Stiles see his sorrow.

Twisting around on the bed until Derek was on his back with Stiles kneeling over him, Stiles placed one hand on Derek's chest, the other lightly resting on Derek's arm. "Listen to me now," Stiles said.

—

The grief in Derek's expression, the naked fear, made Stiles' heart turn over in his chest. "I love you," he said. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want...everything with you." With each word, a little of the pain that was still filling him to overflowing evaporated. "If you don't want to get married, that's fine. I want whatever you're comfortable with."

"You can't take it back," Derek said, surging up, hands clasping the sides of Stiles' face. "Please don't take it back."

"Of course not," Stiles said, lips twisting as heartache thudded through him. "I've loved you too long to stop now."

"No, not… I mean, yes, please don't ever stop loving me. But." Derek pulled away, agitated as he reached into his pocket, fingers digging for something and then coming back with a too-familiar platinum band. "Ask me again," he whispered, naked pleading in his voice. "Please, Stiles, ask me again."

Stiles reached shaking fingers toward the ring, flinching slightly as he touched it. His stomach was a mass of knots, and he half wanted to throw up, but he swallowed his courage and picked up the ring. "I want to spend forever with you," he whispered, eyes locked on Derek's lips, willing them to say yes.

"Thank you," Derek breathed, and then, louder, "Yes. Fuck yes, Stiles, I'll marry you every day if you let me."

"I only have the one ring, though," Stiles said, lips wobbling as happiness began to replace the pain.

"Yeah, well. I might know where there's another one. It's not as nice as this one, but—"

Confused, Stiles reared back. "Wait. What?"

The tips of Derek's ears went pink. "Uh. I. I bought a ring a few months ago. I was going to ask you, but it never seemed like the right moment, and—"

Stiles lurched forward, wrapping himself around Derek and smashing their mouths together. "Yes," he mumbled against Derek's mouth. "Yes." Then, drawing back slightly, he narrowed his eyes and said, "Just remember who asked first."

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus: 
> 
> Stiles' palms were sweating the night he called Cora. She was Derek's only real relative, and while he didn't like the hetero-normative idea of seeking 'permission' to marry Derek, Stiles definitely wanted her well wishes. She was going to be his only sister, if things went according to plan. He wanted to start that relationship off on the right note.
> 
> When he explained to her why he was calling — after much growling and posturing on her end — she went quiet, and his heartbeat ratcheted up. Because what if she hated the idea? What if she told Derek before Stiles could ask him? What if…
> 
> "Yeah," she said, her voice soft. "You… just. Yeah, Stilinski."
> 
> "Yeah?" he asked, feeling his eyes burn as tears of relief filled them.
> 
> "When he's with you, he _forgets_." And that sounded kind of awful, which she must have realized because he couldn't even get a word out before she said, "He forgets to be sad. He forgets to be angry. He forgets… to hate himself. You didn't know him _before_ , but. Yeah. You gave me back my brother. He smiles now. He laughs. I… kinda forgot what a dorky laugh he has, you know?"
> 
> "It's not—"
> 
> "Shut up, idiot. It's _such_ a dorky laugh, and I never thought, when I was eleven, that I'd wake up one day and miss it. But I did. So, you know. Please make him do that forever?"
> 
> And fuck but Stiles couldn't talk for the lump in his throat. "Hnn," he whimpered into the phone instead, and Cora obviously understood that to be his eternal promise, because she laughed a mean laugh, asked him if he had Hello Kitty tissues for those girly tears, and hung up on him.


End file.
